


Plus Ultra

by poetroe



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Christianity, F/F, First Kiss, Historical Inaccuracy, One Shot, cannot believe this is my first korvira fic.......criminal, korvira, kuvira is an actual respected member of the beifong fam, the inherent homoeroticism of pledging fealty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: “The contract will be sealed with a kiss; the kiss of peace, enacted in a chaste peck on the lips. Kuvira evens her breathing as Korra bends down, slowly, and closes the distance.”A medieval Korvira au !!
Relationships: Korra/Kuvira (Avatar)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Plus Ultra

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all, this is just me indulging in my love for Kuvira, Korvira and history in general. Inspired in full by the inherent homoeroticism of being a vassal in medieval Europe as touched upon in this article: https://www.jstor.org/stable/204609. Any historical inaccuracies are my fault (Wikipedia told me the oath part is kinda wrong but I like it like this shsksj), I’m more of a 17th century girl so pls take the setting w a grain of salt! This fic is an expression of thanks for y’all being so nice to me on my bday so thank u! This is my treat to u. I hope u enjoy it !!!

The summer sun rises over the land, slowly but surely evaporating the strands of mist that linger over the fields. Kuvira watches the scene for a moment, from her vantage point on top of the keep.

The Beifong’s castle, built centuries ago on the motte, overlooks the land in all directions. The farming lands to the north and the east, the forest to the west and the mountains to the south. The lands of her ancestors.

Kuvira’s eye drifts down to the bailey, at the foot of the artificial hill, where wisps of smoke rise from the kitchens and the blacksmith’s workshop. The familiar sounds of the people employed by the castle starting the new day drift up when the wind turns. With a sigh, Kuvira turns around and goes back inside. It’s time she, too, faces the task ahead of her.

Back in her chambers, Kuvira changes out of her linen undershirt, washes herself and gets dressed. Her daily attire consists of a woolen tunic, dyed green like the needles of pine trees, lined with soft rabbit fur; dark leggings that fit snugly around her legs; and sturdy leather boots. Her belt ties her tunic more securely around her waist, and carries her dagger and her sword. Kuvira dresses more lavishly than usual today, rummaging through the wooden boxes that contain her jewelry until she finds what she needs: three golden rings, all bearing dim, red stones, and the silver broach with the sigil of her house, the winged boar. She slides the rings on her middle and ring fingers and pins the broach to the fabric that covers her heart. Then she leaves her room and makes her way to the small chapel, tucked away in the east corner of the castle.

Her prayer is… Different, from how it usually is. The fate of her family and the others who depend on her rests uncomfortably on her shoulders, as it always does, but today Kuvira can feel the weight more acutely. In a soft murmur, she prays for her subjects, their harvests, their houses, expresses her thanks for the favorable weather, her mother’s health, her brothers’ strength, her family’s good fortune in general.

Praying for her own perseverance feels almost like an afterthought.

Afterwards, Kuvira speaks briefly to Baatar, named after their father and the second in line for the title of Lord Beifong.

“When I’m gone, I will need you to hear the reports on the harvest of the most northern land and collect the taxes for this month,” she tells him, over breakfast in the great hall. “After that, sit here and hear anyone with a complaint, or any other case of wrongdoing. Execute any sentence you see fit. I trust your judgement.” Baatar nods.

“Do you want me to direct the rebuilding efforts of the farms that were damaged in the storm on Saint Ephrem’s day?”

“Only if you want to,” Kuvira says, before taking a swig of her beer. “The people have a warm meal and a roof over their heads—” She put them, the two families and their children whose houses were destroyed, in the empty barracks near the castle gate. “—and I believe the stonemasons and carpenters can manage on their own, for a day.”

“Alright,” Baatar answers. “Well, good luck today. Be sure to take Wei and Wing with you.”

“I will,” Kuvira answers, with a small smile.

When they’re clad in their shimmering armor, Kuvira’s twin brothers are something to behold. Their skills when it comes to riding, sword fighting and jousting make them the finest knights to tread the grounds of the Beifong manor, second only, perhaps, to Kuvira herself.

She used to be like them, dressed head to toe in sturdy iron, immaculately shaped to fit around her torso and her limbs. No one has ever managed to beat her nimble movements, accompanied by sharp, strong stabs with her sword. The soft clinking of the chainmail against her breastplate as she walked, or the slight sweatiness of her hands in those heavy gloves… These are things Kuvira has had to miss ever since their father died, and she took his place as lord over these lands.

And now, like him, she has to meet with the person who usurped the lord her father had sworn fealty to and reestablish the contract that keeps her family and her subjects protected. Kuvira grits her teeth as she hoists herself up the back of a horse, handed to her by the stable boy, and sits in the saddle. She glances back at her younger brothers once before putting her hood up, covering her black braid, and spurring the horse forward.

It’s half a day’s ride to the new lord’s stronghold and Kuvira would prefer to see them back home by sundown.

When they’ve entered the lord’s castle and dismounted, a squire leads them across the bailey and into the main hall. Everything in the castle is a size bigger than it is at home, but Kuvira doesn’t let it phase her. Instead, her eyes slide over the banners that hang down the sides of the hall; evidence of all the vassals that came here before her. After today, the green and silver of the Beifongs will join their ranks. At the end of the hall, above the great hearth, hangs the blue and white banner of the lord that sits below it—a woman, Kuvira notes, surprised—accompanied with the phrase ‘plus ultra’.

The brazenness of the phrase isn’t lost on her. It’s a cocky variation on Hercules’ ‘non plus ultra’, meaning ‘no more beyond’, which he carved into a set of pillars, signifying the end of the known world. This woman’s turnaround of the phrase suggests a deep ambition that Kuvira can’t help but admire. She lowers her hood and, with her hand comfortably resting on the pommel of her sword, approaches the woman.

“Good day,” she greets, a little hesitantly. Her father passed before she could be comfortably introduced to the rites that come with swearing fealty, so she’s approaching this primarily on her instincts, and the little bit she’s read on the subject. The woman before her grins and stands up.

“And to you,” she answers, her eyes flitting to the broach pinned to Kuvira’s chest and then to Wing and Wei, standing behind her. “Lord Beifong, I assume?” Kuvira nods curtly. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” The woman walks down the steps that raise her chair, quite literally, above her subjects, stopping only when she’s directly in front of Kuvira.

“Likewise,” Kuvira answers, not budging. The woman stills, holding her direct gaze as if it’s a competition to see who will look away first. Kuvira keeps staring into those cerulean eyes, getting a little more lost in them with every heartbeat, until the woman grins and relaxes.

“My name is Korra,” she says, extending her hand. Kuvira grabs onto her wrist and shakes it, once.

“Kuvira.” She decides to get straight to the point. “I’m here because you killed my lord Raiko.” Korra’s grin widens.

“Not to exact your revenge on me, I pray?” she asks.

“Nothing of the sort,” Kuvira responds, now with a small grin of her own. Raiko was a decent vassal lord with his wealth and his alliances, but he liked to drink a little too much for Kuvira’s taste. Her family might actually be better off with him gone, replaced by someone who is young, ambitious, and looks to know what she’s doing. Kuvira sinks to one knee and bows her head. “Word has spread of your conquests. I’m here to pledge the Beifong’s fealty to you, my lord.”

A warm hand clasps her shoulder. “Rise, Kuvira,” Korra says. “And we will make you mine.”

Wei and Wing are stood off to the side, looking on quietly as Kuvira discards the spurs at her heels, her sword and dagger, together with the belt, and lays them on the stone floor at the foot the stairs. Feeling naked without their weight, she walks up the step and kneels down before Korra.

Wordlessly, she offers the lord her hands, pressed together as in prayer. Korra takes them, holding them between her own.

“I wish to become my lord’s man,” Kuvira starts, a little breathless, but keeping her voice strong and unwavering. “I swear an oath of fidelity to my lord, on the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John in the Holy Scriptures, which are the word of God.” She glances up at Korra as she says this, their closeness doing nothing good to help with her nerves. Kuvira takes a deep breath and continues. “I promise on my faith that I will never harm my lord in any way. I will be faithful to my lord, I will provide my lord with council and aid, material or military, however he— _she_ , might need it.” Korra answers her correction of the word by squeezing her joined hands. “I will observe my homage to her absolutely and completely.”

“In exchange for her council and aid, I will protect my vassal,” Korra then says, stating her obligations in this oral contract, “her people, her lands and manor. They will remain hers, for as long as the blood runs through the veins of her and her kin.” A relieved breath leaves Kuvira’s lungs as Korra speaks her final words. “Lord Beifong, I accept you as my man.”

The contract will be sealed with a kiss; the kiss of peace, enacted in a chaste peck on the lips. Kuvira evens her breathing as Korra bends down, slowly, and closes the distance.

A light kiss pressed to her lips is what Kuvira patiently waits for. However, though their mouths remain closed, the kiss is anything but chaste; Korra’s hands leave Kuvira’s suspended in the air as she moves them to her cheeks, keeping her close for a moment longer than what feels appropriate for a holy kiss.

Korra’s lips are soft, warm, and seem to slot together with Kuvira’s perfectly, like a key in a lock. The kiss signifies promise, but at the same time Kuvira feels the overflowing sensation of reverence; it feels like so much more than a promise, or the finalization of their mutual fidelity. It feels like being grazed by the hand of God.

It’s only when Korra lets her go that Kuvira notices her own flushed cheeks, or how they seem to be a perfect match for Korra’s. She doesn’t know what to say in that moment, so she silently nods at Korra, a final acknowledgement before she rises, turns around and descends down the stairs.

“Will you stay?” Korra asks when she follows her down, her grin wide and back in full force now that the ceremony is over. Kuvira fiddles with the straps on her scabbard as she puts her belt back on. “This occasion calls for a feast, don’t you think?” Kuvira glances at Wing and Wei, who have taken off their helmets and are talking to two knights in Korra’s employ. She remembers her urge from this morning, to get this over with and return home, as fast as she could manage.

In the end, the persistent nature of her heart wins it from her mind. “It would be my pleasure,” she answers; Korra’s smile is blinding like the summer sun, evaporating any lingering doubts in her mind like the mist above the fields, and filling Kuvira with an entirely new kind of devotion.


End file.
